


Bucky Barnes Saves Himself

by JunkFood



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 04:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30032964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunkFood/pseuds/JunkFood
Summary: After 2 years of fruitless searching for Bucky, Steve imagined all kinds of scenarios in which he would eventually find his old friend: homeless, amnesiac, unlikely to be stable, possibly homicidal, and most definitely grumpy and unshaven. Steve used to daydream about when he would eventually catch up with Bucky and how he would swoop in like some dime novel romantic hero to “rescue” Bucky from whatever awful situation he was in or, more likely, to rescue Bucky from himself. When he finally catches up to him, well, Bucky's done a fine job of living on his own without Steve. It kind of hurts his ego, then again, Bucky never was a damsel in distress anyway.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 6





	Bucky Barnes Saves Himself

**Author's Note:**

> Hard-AU from end of Winter Soldier although incorporates elements from Civil War. I hope to craft a different kind of "Bucky recovers" story; also, a more sympathetic rendering of Hydra in that they are presented as the antagonists that the free world deserves and not just “the bad guys”. Bonus?: Office-AU with SHIELD bureaucracy, HYDRA incompetence and,of course, one of Fortune’s "Top 100 Companies To Work For": Stark Industries.

**WHO** **AM I?**

The Soldier tapped his pen once, then twice, against the notebook positioned precariously on his knee. The Target on the Heli carrier had called him “Bucky”, or rather James ~~Byoucanon~~ Bukanon? Barns. The blonde man irritated him and not just because he was hard to kill and had single-handedly ruined the Soldier’s 100% mission completion rate. While he was punching the man’s face in, as the world fell around them, he had brief flashes of memory- an artist’s sketchbook, a boxing ring, a blonde kid much smaller than himself, a woman with red lips and dark brown hair– scenes out of a movie in which he knew he had at least a supporting role. He felt that he knew the man, but he could not place his face. The man’s voice, on the other hand, was achingly familiar  
  
The Target had clearly been enhanced, like the Soldier. Their first interaction, after the Soldier had sanctioned the one-eyed man, had consisted of the Soldier running away from him since at that time killing the man was outside of his mission parameters. The Soldier admired the man’s resolve, but he could not believe how destructive he was in achieving his objective. Moving efficiently and quietly was ingrained in the Soldier’s psyche, the Target simply ran through walls and busted through windows with no care of the damage done to himself or to his surroundings.

Fighting the Target had been extremely aggravating, especially on the Heli carrier when he had shown up in that dumb costume spouting all kinds of nonsense. He looked like a ~~панк~~ punk. That was another interesting facet of his pervasive memory loss: he had thoughts in different languages, but he wasn’t sure why or what triggered it. Pierce had ordered him and his colleagues to speak in Russian when chasing the Target all over Washington DC- despite the fact that none of his colleagues were Russian and the Soldier was certain he himself was not Russian. Pierce had wanted to capitalize on the current tensions between the two superpowers and use the Russians as scapegoats. This had led to a rather amusing exchange between Pierce and Rumlow:

“Sir, with all due respect, none of us speaks Russian,” said Rumlow.

“That’s fine. The Soldier does. He’ll just say stuff to you guys, preferably in front of Shield operatives. Isn’t that right, Solider?” Pierce, unconcerned, asked the Soldier.

“да.” Internally, the Soldier rolled his eyes.

Rumlow had been right to be concerned. They had lost a team member unnecessarily on the freeway overpass fight because when the Soldier had warned the team about the red-haired combatant, poor Agent Turner hadn’t understood him and was shot in the face. After that fiasco, Pierce ordered the Soldier to communicate only in English. It wasn’t the first-time personal memories resurfaced for him, in spite of Hydra’s best attempts to erase non-mission and non-Hydra compliant information. Hydra was clever in that they somehow knew how to pinpoint personal memories and erase them but leave intact his combat knowledge, mission knowledge, and even some Hydra-related personal memories. They also tried to completely erase his personality, but it never went entirely away, he just got better at not displaying his emotions.

He glanced down at his notebook and saw that he had absentmindedly doodled the Hydra logo, but with the added adornments of sunglasses and a fedora sketched over the skull. He glanced over at the clock near his bed- it was only 2pm. Too early for dinner. Sighing, he emptied the contents of the small, refrigerated compartment in his cabin that was magically replenished each day and lined up the cute little bottles on his dresser. It took A LOT to get him drunk and he was glad he had signed up for the “Sip & Sail” package, but the bar didn’t open until 6pm so he had some time to kill. He had already polished off all the White Russian, which was rapidly becoming his favorite drink, so he grabbed something called Baileys and resumed his cat-like sprawl on top of his bed. He re-opened his notebook and wrote _Who/What/When/Where/Why_ on a blank page. He felt a sense of déjà vu and knew he had gone through similar exercises of trying to jog his memory- invariably until some Hydra Agent caught him and reported him to upper management. He wrote _Washington, D.C. – American Hydra_ at the top of the page. The beginning was usually a good place to start but since he couldn’t remember “the beginning” he figured he may as well write down what he last remembered. From what he could recall of past attempts, cobbling together his past from the remaining shreds of his memory never resulted in a chronological account. He couldn’t remember the beginning of the mission, so he forced himself to recall the end of it.

Washington, D.C.

1 week earlier

Location: Hydra Base?# DC???

Mission status: FAILED

After he fished the blonde man out of river, the Solider dutifully returned to the vault of the unoccupied bank Hydra was using as the base of their operations, gave himself some much-needed medical attention, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

He tried to call Rumlow on the burner phone Rumlow had given him for the duration of the mission. The sole pre-programmed number didn’t even ring; a mechanized voice stated that the number was no longer in service. Rumlow was one of the first Hydra agents he met after coming out of cryofreeze. Stumbling around, trying to articulate the fingers of his metal arm, he remembered Rumlow pressing a telephonic device into his hand ( _call me anytime Soldier, we’ll celebrate our success after the mission’s done at this great Italian place I know_ ). He rather liked Rumlow- the man snuck him Snickers bars and fed him when the scientists weren’t looking (Pierce had wanted the Soldier to be hungry). Rumlow had also overseen his “reintegration”, although they had barely covered the basics of the era into which he had been defrosted when Pierce ordered his memory to be wiped ( _sorry buddy_ , Rumlow apologetically whispered him, _we don’t have time to go over everything again. Just remember: the year is 2014, cameras are EVERYWHERE, they are even in portable phones which, by the way, have more computing power than what it took to land on the moon, so you have to be careful about not showing your face. Also, the Soviet Union collapsed a while back and people are addicted to social media-we’ll cover the horror that is Facebook in a future lesson_.)

After waiting 48 hours, the Soldier concluded that the mission had ended in failure and that his colleagues were either dead or assumed that he was dead. Hydra followed a strict protocol in the event of mission failure. At the start of a mission, agents were divided into sub-groups (the Soldier was in Rumlow’s group), each with a specified rendezvous location (the bank vault was their group’s designated site), from which they could make contact with the mission leader (Pierce). The Soldier briefly considered trying to make contact with Pierce but didn’t know how to. Long after he had left the bank vault, sipping his 3rd mimosa and lounging in a cabana overlooking the French Riviera, the Solider would remember that he had visited Pierce at his house where he was forced to dispose of the body of some unfortunate woman who had displeased Pierce. But at the time, pacing the length of the bank vault and eating the remainder of the Snickers bars Rumlow had stashed away for him, all the Soldier could remember was that in the event of mission failure he was to re-establish contact with Hydra. And he simply did not know how to do that beyond the mission parameters. Missions had gone wrong in the past but there was always a contingency plan and someone around to either brief him or debrief him. The Soldier surmised that this mission’s failure had been catastrophic. The Soldier stopped pacing the length of the vault and considered his options:

A) wait in the bank vault for an indeterminate amount of time possibly  
i) starving to death (10% probability)  
ii) reuniting with remaining Hydra agents, (10% probability)  
iii) being discovered by S.H.I.E.L.D. or other law enforcement agencies resulting in combat (80% probability)

B) leave the bank vault as the Soldier and possibly  
i) obtain food (this was a given)  
ii) run into Rumlow/Hydra agents (5% probability)  
iii) run into blonde man, redhead, and flying man resulting in combat (95% probability)

C) leave covertly, grab donuts and coffee, get the hell out of town, no fighting required

The rendezvous location was fully stocked with cash in several currencies, bank account numbers, and, most importantly, manufactured passports. Pierce hadn’t wanted him to have any documentation but Rumlow had insisted that the lab techs make both an American and a Russian Federation passport for him. His “American” name was Sam Smith and his “Russian” name was Ivan Ivanov.

 _Well_ , thought the Soldier, _at least my photo looks good_. The DC-branch of Hydra was well-funded so the Soldier wasn’t surprised when transferring bank accounts into Sam Smith’s name that he was able to pool together about half a million U.S. dollars in liquid funds. Halfway through piecing together suitable street clothing (he was having difficulty finding a jacket that would fit over the arm), the Soldier realized that he had abandoned his new mission objective ( _Make contact with Hydra!_ ), that he was making plans to escape Hydra ( _Death is the only escape from Hydra!_ ), and that he was stealing from Hydra ( _Hey buddy, I “borrowed” $1000 from petty cash for you. We’re gonna have a team-building weekend in Atlantic City this weekend_!). After hitting single numbers 5 times in a row at the roulette wheel in Atlantic City, Rumlow had clapped the Soldier on the back and told him he was a natural gambler. Taking a final look at himself in the reflection of the bank vault door in his “civilian clothes” (black jeans, baseball hat, black leather jacket), the Solider would have to agree.

The Soldier shut his notebook and closed his eyes. His escape wasn’t relevant to uncovering his past but he mentally reviewed it anyway. The hardest part about Plan C was getting out of Washington D.C. due to the heavy police and military presence. His first stop was the Dulles International Airport. Air travel would be the fastest way out of the country but unfortunately also the most patrolled. He weighed the risks but ultimately rejected air travel because he couldn’t remember whether or not the arm would set off the metal detectors he saw prominently displayed at the entrance. Train travel was out (unless he wanted to go to Canada and he didn’t feel that was far enough) which is how, with a little assistance, he ended up booking a cabin on something called a “Carnival Cruise” to the Mediterranean. Europe seemed as good a place as any so, in his search for a travel agent, he came across a place called “AAA” where he learned that travel agents had largely been replaced by something called “the Internet”. He vaguely recalled one of the lab technicians grumbling about Hydra’s crappy Internet connection and Rumlow describing it as “the entirety of information known to man largely used to look at cat photos....and porn”.

Despite his lack of knowledge of “the Internet”, a kindly AAA employee helped him book a cabin on a ship set to depart the next morning on a 12-daycruise across the Atlantic called “From Manhattan to the Mediterranean”. As Sam Smith, he was able to rent a car and make the four-hour drive to New York City just in time for departure.

The Soldier re-opened his notebook. He remembered coming out of cryo-freeze, he remembered that one of the lab techs (the one with the bow tie?) bought donuts for everybody each day and also made sure the Soldier got one with sprinkles on it, he remembered fighting with the Target and a redheaded woman who was also hard to kill. He remembered arguing with Pierce about.... something and Pierce subsequently ordering the scientists to wipe him, he remembered fighting the Target again and the man, face beaten to a pulp, pleading with him to remember someone named “Bucky”. Bucky? _What a dumb name, that can’t possibly be my name_ , thought the Soldier. He drew a star and colored it red with crayons he had swiped earlier from the kid’s section of the breakfast buffet and tried to recall the beginning of the mission. His memory was definitely coming back.

Washington, D.C.

4 weeks earlier

Location: Hydra Base #DC5014

Mission status: Not Started

Coming out of cryofreeze was always such a bitch. His latest emergence left him cold and shivering (typical) and with a nasty cough (atypical). The Hydra doctor who took his vitals muttered something about “stupid Soviet bastards.... used inferior coolant.... damnit Pierce’s gonna be pissed”. Judging by the doctor’s accent, the Winter Soldier deduced he was in America. His last memory was going to sleep in a depressing sub-ground compound somewhere in the frozen tundra of the Soviet Union. His vision was still blurry but he was able to take stock of his surroundings: to his left a Hydra doctor was examining x-rays (presumably his) and in front of him sat a man, likely a combatant judging by his clothing, straddling a chair backwards, his chin perched on his folded arms.

“How long till he’s mission-ready?” the man asked the Doctor.

“Technically he should be ready in a few hours but I’m concerned about the fluid in his lungs. Towards the end of the Soviet Union, our comrades were low on funds. They routinely cut corners and didn’t follow the Cryofreeze SOP.”

“Cheap commie bastards,” the man muttered. “Pierce wants him mission-ready by tomorrow.” 

The Doctor walked over to his work station and picked up a rather badass-looking black mask. “He can go outside but he needs to wear this air filter. The last thing we need is him contracting pneumonia in the field.”

“I thought he was a super soldier? Like Rogers?” inquired the man.

“He has superior healing properties but his immune system has been compromised. His condition is sub-optimal-he is underweight and it looks like the skin fused to the metal plate on mechanical arm is infected.”

“What do we call him?”

“The Soviets called him the Winter Soldier.”

“I’m not calling him that.”

“Pierce said to simply refer to him as the Soldier.”

“Alright, Soldier, how do you feel?” the combatant asked him.

“Ready to comply.” The words tumbled from his lips before his brain had a chance to catch up.

“Jesus!” the combatant exclaimed, “They really did a number on you!”

“What did you expect,” the Doctor interrupted, “Karpov was in charge of him last. He was into all that mind control garbage.”

“Well, Soldier, we take better care of our teammates here in the United States. I’m Agent Rumlow and that asshole over there is Dr. Lisowski. I’ll be in charge of your re-integration. Do you remember what that is?”

The Soldier nodded his head. Each time he was defrosted, he awoke in the care of a different Hydra cell and often in a new country but “re-integration” was consistently applied.

“Who is the mission head?”

“A great man named Secretary Pierce. You’ll be meeting him soon.”

The Soldier sighed and cracked his neck. He had a headache. He re-opened the notebook and added under the defaced Hydra logo: I AM ME.


End file.
